The Sins of the Father?
by Jason Layton
Summary: Okay this story follows on from Lucy's Spanish Adventure, set 3 months after their return from Marbella. Lucy is now living at 221b. You know the rules, don't like don't read! PLEASE REVIEW!
1. Lucy's POV part 1

**Okay trying something new here, I have been working on this tale while driving to and from work. My poor dictaphone has been working overtime! I'm hoping I don't hit the wrong button while doing my notes it might be a bit embarrassing, especially as I've been doing voices! Hope you like it!**

**Pls Review**

**Jas xx**

* * *

I was sitting on the sofa watching my little son play with his building blocks when I heard the door downstairs bang, and running footsteps up the 17 steps to the flat. My husband had left the flat very early whispering something about a case. The footsteps however were to fast and heavy for him. John my lover had left for work about an hour previously, we had sent my elder son Simon off to school in a car provided by his Uncle Mycroft, and then John had gone to the clinic on foot. John no longer had a limp, but his footsteps were not as even as the person climbing the stairs. Mycroft would never run, and Simon well there wasn't any reason for him to come home. The steps were heavy, but fast a man then, confident with the layout of the flat, able to run in without worrying what he might find behind our door. Only two men fitted this description, one was a psychopath whom I have in the past tortured to unconsciousness and now avoided the possibility of ever meeting me again, the other was…

"DI Lestrade, what a pleasant surprise!" It wasn't but as I was trying to emulate the Holmes level of omniscience, by welcoming him while he was still the other side of the door. However my plan backfired somewhat when I turned to fix him with my most winning smile, his face was stone and my stomach suddenly froze.

"Mrs Holmes" he addressed me, "is your husband at home?" He was serious but I couldn't help but tease him a little.

"No Greg I didn't know you saw me like that though, I'm flattered" the looked he fixed me with could have frozen lava. "No he's not, actually I thought he was with you, he left this morning saying he had a case." I was confused now; scenarios ran through my head, none of them were good.

"Is there anybody else here?" he asked me looking around.

"No I'm waiting for the nanny to come and pick up Junior, I've got a lecture in a couple hours, John's at work, Simon's at school, and we've covered Sherlock. Mrs Hudson's downstairs though?" I questioned him but he kept the same serious beat.

"Do you think she would take care of little John for a while?" he asked.

"Are you going to arrest me Detective? It's just my solicitor is on Crete, Aghios Nikolaos for a couple of weeks." He put his hand up to stop me.

"I'm hoping it won't come to that, but I would like you to accompany me." He held out his hand to me.

I begged some moments to sort some bits out for my son, which he allowed me. I had a few moments so wrote a quick note for Dr Watson, and sent him a text message. Then I left my tiny son with our landlady, whispering that I expected John home, and he would take him from her. Then with the impatient detective waiting in his unmarked car for me, I checked my phone and entered the passenger seat.

"Do you have any reason to believe your husband might try and leave the country Mrs Holmes?" The DI asked me again.

"None whatsoever, and please stop calling me Mrs Holmes, it's Professor Steadman if your not going to call me Lucille." I stopped and thought for a moment, "I can guarantee Sherlock hasn't left the country Detective." He looked at me; "I have his passport and papers in my safety deposit box. We can go there now if you'd like." His eyes lit up. He turned the car around and we headed for the Park Lane site.

My box was as I assumed complete, and I was able to show him my husband's passport, driving license and MI6 paperwork. Assuring the Detective was easy, although he took the paperwork as guarantee of no moonlight flit. He must have known that if Sherlock Holme's wanted to vanish this pile of worthless documents would mean nothing to him. However he agreed to return me to Baker Street, and as he wouldn't tell me why he was desperate to get in contact with Sherlock, I requested to be allowed to go about my day.

When he dropped me home, I ran straight up the stairs, John would have returned home by now, Mrs Hudson wouldn't expect to see me. I went to our bedroom wriggling under the bed, I removed the loose floorboard and took the small mahogany box that was hidden there. I threw it into my rucksack, changed my shoes to heavy boots, picked up my barber jacket, waved to Mycroft's security camera and left via the window. I watched Lestrade's car disappear around the corner, walked in the opposite direction, and as far as anyone would ever know, vanished.

* * *

**TBC**

**Next chapter from Johns POV.**

**Started calling the baby Junior because even I'm confused now!**

**Love and cupcakes for all**

**Jason**


	2. John's POV part 1

**OK chapter 2**

**hope you like it**

**Pls Review**

* * *

**From Johns POV**

The morning had started normally enough, when I woke up I could hear Lucy bustling about the flat, she was singing "Killer Queen" by Queen, while making the boys breakfast. This I assume was because the night before Sherlock had brought home a bottle of Moet et Chandon Champagne and it sat untouched on the otherwise empty wine rack. Since Lucy and the boys came to live with us at Baker Street. A trial period to be reviewed at any time we had all agreed, Mycroft had sent a car to take Simon to school at 7.30 every morning. It was now 7am, and I had 45 minutes to get up, dressed, showered breakfasted and walk to work. Lucy was singing so there was clearly no Sherlock this morning, I had a pang of regret, I dislike going to work without kissing him goodbye.

I had seen Simon off in Mycroft's ridiculous black Limo, and waved goodbye to Lucy and Junior. With a good 15 minutes left for the short walk to the clinic. When I arrived it was an early clinic of School kids with pretend stomachaches. Some genuinely ill workers who refused to have the day off, and the usual smattering of pensioners who for some unknown reason always block up these early sessions with complaints that could have waited for a normal appointment time. My shift was due to finish at 12.30, and I had sent Sherlock a number of texts throughout the day to remind him of this. If he was on a case, he would often tell me where he was so I could join him when I finished my shift. I was quite annoyed not only had he not told me he was going out on a case but not to answer my calls or texts was really getting me down. So I was pleasantly surprised when the text came through at 10.30.

Sherlock texts me all the time on a normal day, I often get texts from Lestrade and Harry. I occasionally get texts from Mycroft, but only once could I remember ever getting a text from Lucy, and that was when she had gone into labour. So when I saw her numbers come up, I was already worried.

**Come home at once, very urgent, SOS. Lucy xxx**

If that message had come from Sherlock or anyone else I would have ignored it, from Lucy I acted straight away. Telling Sarah I had to leave urgently and explaining the SOS, that Lucy was alone with her toddler, and now not answering her calls. She agreed to rebook my remaining patients, and made me promise to let her know what was happening as soon as I knew. We may no longer be together, but she has always been very understanding where my Godchildren are concerned.

I hurried home, my head spinning with possible scenarios. Lucy was for all her many faults an excellent mother, I couldn't imagine her letting anything happen to Junior, but accidents do happen. I had a nasty creeping feeling when I came to our home, the windows of the flat were open as they had been earlier that morning, but there were no lights on. Although it was midday in May Lucy always turned the lounge lights on when she was home, it drove Sherlock mad. When I opened the front door, Mrs Hudson with Junior in her arms greeted me.

"Oh doctor, Lucy said you would be home soon. She said I had to give the little one to you, and make sure you remembered to pick up his things before you took him out again." I was shocked and without saying a word took the toddler from her.

I walked up our stairs, and found the flat in disarray. Lucy's lecture notes lay scattered over the sofa, her pens and bagged upturned on the floor. By the still burning fire lay Juniors duplo blocks, we had been playing with them that morning, and he'd obviously been playing with them while Lucy waited for the nanny. When I looked at them he started wiggling and grabbing for them. I called for Lucy, or Sherlock but there was no answer and the flat was clearly empty. I walked to our bedroom, and lying on the bed was a note, weighed down with Lucy's phone. I put Junior on the floor, and snatched them up.

_Dearest John,_

_I am so sorry for this, and I wish I could explain more to you. Firstly you must know that I trust you above all others with my boys, and whatever comes in the next few days you need to remember that. I have given you an hour, from the time I sent you the text message to the time you must be gone by. If you reacted to my text immediately, you will have about 40minutes left. I need you to pack bags for the boys, just some toys and stuff. Grab anything you might want to hide, the flat will be searched, a bag for yourself, and leave you phone. Mycroft will send a car for you when you're ready, trust him he will keep you all safe. Please don't think badly of me, I love you all. Please keep my boys together, you may need to collect Simon from school. Don't worry about Mrs Hudson she is well taken care of, as is Harry. Sherlock will be fine as I'm sure you know, as will I. I hope to see you all soon. Please take care of yourself._

_All my love_

_Lucy_

_Xxx_

The letter was short and scribbled, and my mind took in the room while I read it. Nothing seemed disturbed, so I assumed Lucy had left with nothing. I grabbed my Browning from the bedside cabinet and shoved it into my sports bag sitting in the wardrobe. Always packed for the moment's flight that comes with living with Sherlock I needed only to check it, and zip it. I picked up Junior again and went to the room Simon and John now shared. It had once been Sherlock's, but now contained two little beds and a vast amount of toys. Lucy kept a couple of large bags in that room for the boys things so I packed Juniors teddy and Simons few favorite toys, then some jumpers and pants and things, and finally the book Sherlock had been reading to them. Then looking around the flat, I grabbed the picture of us all at the boys Christening that I had started keeping on the mantelpiece, and carried Junior and the bags downstairs. I called goodbye to Mrs Hudson and stepped out into Baker Street, just as the large black Mercedes pulled up.

The Driver leapt out and helping me put my bags into the boot, opened the back door for me. I wasn't surprised to see that 'not' Anthea was sitting in the back, but was also grateful that Simon was already inside the car, strapped in carefully beside her. She took Junior from me, and while I settled into the car, strapped him into a waiting baby seat. I smiled weakly and thanked her, but before I could say another word, the door slammed closing us all inside and the car whisked away. My hour was up, and I vanished.

* * *

**Hope you liked **

**TBC**

**Nxt Chapter Sherlock**

**Jas xx**


	3. Sherlock's POV part 1

**This is a shorter chapter, but I didn't want to give anything away too early.**

**This is from Sherlock's POV**

**Told you this one was going to be different.**

**Jas xx**

* * *

**Sherlock's POV 1**

It started for me on the Wednesday evening I had done my duty as prescribed by John when Lucy and the boys came to live with us. I had helped bath Junior, ensured both boys brushed their teeth, and read them a bedtime story. Lucy however didn't like the books John kept suggesting, so we were reading The Red Riding Quartet, by David Peace. When they had settled, and I had answered their usual bedtime questions, that night it was 'Where do bees go in winter?' Easily answered, and entertainingly so for me, and 'What is a black hole?' Harder to explain and needing a book. I swear John and Lucy is priming them! John was pretending to watch something on the television, but in fact snoozing. Lucy was working on her lecture notes, but like John her head was lolling. So I ordered them to go to bed, they both claimed that they were fine and awake, but very quickly dropped off, and after half an hour they crawled off, John asking me to come. I had been finishing off a case, and said I might come to bed a little later.

It must have been 4 hours later that my phone buzzed. The light was just starting to come up, never sun, not in London, too many buildings, but light seeps through, light rise I often think. I read the message and my blood ran cold, I had to get out and I had to leave now. I went to the boys room, checked they were both asleep and safe, then carefully removed the floorboard closest to their window, I removed a small wooden box, smiled sadly, and walked back into the main flat. I grabbed my soft cache bag from behind the desk and placed the box inside, but my coat on and went up to our bedroom. Lucy woke when I opened the door but John a heavier sleeper was still deeply asleep. I whispered that I had a case, waved at my wife, and walked out of the house. Around the corner from Baker Street I binned my phone, and then I vanished.

Six hours later I was sat in front of a security screen watching the arrival of Lestrade at the flat. I've never been able to disappear completely, I've always needed help. I'm very good and once outside the UK I'm usually able to shake my brother. Sadly I will admit in the UK I need Mycroft. So I arranged that I could watch my dearest families own flight. Lucy of course was practiced in diversion and evasion. She was clever and spontaneous enough to shake all but the most dogged of pursuers. Lestrade had never stood a chance, I was worried when she had handed Junior to Mrs Hudson, but Johns return a few minutes later, reminded me how clever she was. John was slower, he of course has little to hide, and his goodness shines through every action. Still he followed Lucy's note and instruction, he looked at everything twice trying to find clues as to what was going on. I had a moment of panic as I saw him carefully packing toys for the boys, while Lucy and Lestrade were returning to Baker Street. The last thing Lucy and I needed was Lestrade asking John odd questions, he needed to trust us. However he was fast and thorough, and before many minutes were over, he was safely in the car, with my boys.

Lucy arrived a few moments later, sometimes I worry about Lestrade's intelligence. I had expected him to question her thoroughly, but she was able to derail him. He didn't think she was involved silly man, Lucy ran through the flat like a whirlwind, careful and concise, but fast. In fact as she turned to the camera and gave me a cheeky wave Lestrade was still barely out of the front door. I smiled as I watched her climb out of the window, sometimes I hate that woman, but sometimes, briefly I adore her. As she did her own disappearing act Mycroft came in to the room.

"Well little brother, your family are safe and looked after, what do you want to do next?"

"I don't know?" I admitted "I assumed if this ever happened there would just be me to worry about, I assumed that Lucy would be buffered from it by my disinterest, and John never figured." I looked at my brother for help, but his face was blank, calculating no doubt the best course of action.

"I think Sherlock, our best course of action is to solve this puzzle ourselves, while keeping you hidden."

"What if the answer isn't what we want?" I asked him

"We will have to make sure it is?" he smiled, sitting down at his desk and re-reading the case report that started off our current set of troubles.

* * *

**OK hope you liked it!**

**TBC**

**I was going to do Lestrade next but I'll see where it goes!**

**PLEASEEEEEE Review**

**Jas xx**


	4. Lestrade's POV part 1

**You all know the deal, and all property is still theft!**

**Jas x**

**Lestrade POV 1**

Normally crimes that involve more than one police force are a logistical nightmare; this case was giving everyone a headache. The body had been found in a patch of woodland near the village of Wyddial, Hertfordshire. The attitude and age of the body had suggested murder and it became the case of the Bedfordshire and Hertfordshire Major Crime Unit (BHMCU). However identity had been established fairly quickly, and the original investigating team from the man's disappearance ten years previously had been brought onboard. The man had gone missing on a personal visit to Cambridge, and now Cambridgeshire Constabulary joined the BHMCU. The man however had been reported missing from his home near Wing in Oxfordshire, and the Thames Valley Police also had an open case file. To us at Scotland Yard this had been nothing but an amusing unfolding event, a major incident for ten-year-old murder. We had offered our colleagues all the technical help the Met could give and chuckled about giraffes and committees. However no good deed is left unpunished, and it was as I was leaving the office our call came through, the original suspect a man who had fled justice ten years previously now lived in central London, it was my problem now as well.

The victim was a 64-year-old civil servant, something very high up in the government by all accounts. He came from money and had married more, gaining himself a knighthood to go with the family name and estate. He'd had a clean criminal record, and his work record, what we could see of it, was exemplary. In 2003 he had been visiting his youngest son, who was studying at Cambridge, he had gone out to dinner with his son, and his sons girlfriend. He'd paid on his credit card, as he never carried any quantity of cash, then he'd walked the young couple back to her rented house in Abbey Walk and walked back towards the Grafton centre to get a taxi.

He had been due to attend a meeting the next day, and had a suite at the Crown Plaza. However he had neither attended the meeting, nor it was discovered during the original investigation returned to his hotel. His wife and eldest son had not filled out a missing persons, it was in fact his PA that had reported the man missing. His wife had claimed she had little time for his work commitments and didn't realize anything was wrong. His son had taken over most of his father's workload, and had been too busy to report the older man missing. The original investigating team were under the impression the man had many mistresses, and the son had assumed his father was with one of them.

The original investigating team had assumed Foul play, when no ransom was forth coming. He was a wealthy man with good connections and a prize for any kidnapper. The eldest son however had always maintained his father had not been kidnapped, he wasn't working on anything particularly dangerous. This made the eldest son an immediate suspect, but a full alibi involving several members of the British Establishment had been forthcoming.

The investigation had next moved on to his wife, she was several years younger than him, and rather aloof. The investigation team had interviewed several members of staff and all had agreed they had a rather difficult relationship. However she had an alibi, and other than a general motive involving insinuated domestic violence, no other reason to kill her husband. Still the team had several interviews with her, and it wasn't until her solicitor had started complaining about harassment that she stopped being the number one suspect.

The investigation team had uncovered a scandal involving the man, and his previous assistant. The woman had died three years previously after a short but painful illness. She and the man had been working together on a case; she had gone with him for a few weeks, leaving her husband and teenage daughter at home. She had returned not to the office, but gone straight home. She had died a few weeks later and no one she had worked with ever saw her again. The man hadn't been affected at all, in fact he never mentioned the woman again. The team however had no luck investigating this case, and had failed entirely to link it to their current investigation.

This all left the youngest son; he had been the last person to see his father. The staff all admitted he and his father had a difficult relationship. He was involved in some mild drug use, and drank heavily. He was very interested in the investigation, and had requested all sorts of information. All of which had been refused. Finally it was discovered that the man had tried to cut his youngest son out of his will when it was discovered he was planning to drop out of university. The investigation team had wanted to interview the boy, and had gone to his digs and found them empty. The boy had seemingly vanished, the family had no idea of his whereabouts, and filed a missing person's report, a report was also filed for his girlfriend. The investigating team was back to square one, no sign or evidence was ever found and the case was closed. The son and girlfriend returned 2 years later but by then the investigation had gone so cold no further questions were ever asked.

Nothing had been heard of the man again, until that morning when children playing hooky from school had found his remains.

I had stared at the name on the case file for longer than I could remember. The warrant for the arrest of the son had come through and I'd stared at that as well. I had done some investigation into the case, asked for some details about dates and times. However after several hours, and after exploring every detail of the ongoing case I had decided I would go and collect the suspect myself. I picked up the case file and read the mans name once more. Siger Holmes, Sherlock's father.

I went alone to Baker Street hoping that I could talk to Sherlock, and ask him to provide a decent account for his actions. I knew that he had run away from University but not much more than that, I had assumed drugs had been behind it. I was angry when Professor Steadman was there, she's a lovely girl but I needed to speak to Sherlock. When she told me he had said he had a case with me, I knew he'd done another bunk. I couldn't help but channel Donovan in my head, I'd always known he would be capable of murder, and he was looking very guilty to me. I know of course that he could always find ways of leaving the country, but when Lucy gave me his passport I did feel slightly relieved. I had at least some proof that whatever Sherlock was involved in Lucy and John were unaware.

I left the flat and returned to Scotland Yard rather despondent. I don't mind a clever perpetrator, I don't mind an ingenious criminal, what I dreaded was trying to catch Sherlock Holmes.

* * *

**Ok so I hope that makes a lot more sense!**

** TBC**

** Next chapter Mycroft**

** Jas xx**


	5. Mycroft's POV part 1

**Last section of Part 1**

**Hope this clears up the exact nature of the crime.**

**Jas xx**

* * *

**Mycroft POV 1**

When my father disappeared I was a few weeks short of my 28th Birthday. Birthdays have never meant a lot to me but I like to judge mine by how old my brother will be. In 2003 my brother turned 21, it was his final year at Cambridge, and although his birthday isn't until July, Mummy had been planning a large end of exams/ birthday party for early June. To this end I had spent a lot of time arranging things for Mummy, both with London suppliers and in Oxfordshire. My father was of course not interested, he had found a nice new mistress, and even the work had no tie for him anymore. I was surprised when he had offered to speak to Sherlock about the party, but assumed the lure of a night away with his PA had been the primary motivator, a security meeting had been arranged for the next day.

We knew by that time of Sherlock's unusual friendship, and although I assumed Sherlock would refuse any attempt to entice him to his birthday party, my father believed Sherlock's young lady would be more pliable. I thought it a fool's errand, and spent the day and evening attending meetings my father should have gone to. I didn't of course know what was to befall our family that night, if I had I may have been able to stop it. As it is I know almost as little as the police about the evening, Ms Steadman was renting a small two-bedroom cottage in Abbey Walk close to the centre of the city. Sherlock often stayed there overnight, and certainly that is what they told the police 2 years later. However Sherlock had digs closer to the college, and close to the restaurant they had visited that night. Although I do not normally engage in idle speculation, I cannot dwell on the possible scenarios for that night without doing so.

When my brother disappeared, with Ms Steadman I assumed the worse of them. My brother had been terrorised by my father for years, and I dreaded what horror could have driven him to what I assumed was murder. However in my own hurry to cover up the crime, I ignored all the other evidence, as Sherlock would later tell me. I have always thought that as I hadn't found a body despite my power and contacts, no one would and I would never have to ask for details my brother was unwilling to give. My mother has always acted as if her husband is alive and just at work. I have found it easier to cope with that than to imagine my brother murdering our father after one abuse to many.

When the body was found, my spies monitoring the PNC let me know immediately, and I had a copy of the case files on my desk, probably before DI Lestrade. I texted Sherlock when I knew more, and told him to run. My brother is clever, but has limited imagination and as I supposed he might he came to me for help. I was able to put into practice a number of security protocols that I have placed around the residents of 221b over the last few years. This would allow my brother the time and space he needed to solve this particular case. Whether my brother likes to admit it or not he has a heart and soul and cannot function properly if they are not looked after. I first sat him down and asked him the first question the police would if they got hold of him.

"Did you kill him?"

"No, you know I didn't. Did you?"

"I wouldn't have asked if I had. Who do you think killed him?"

"The same person I've always thought killed him."

"And that is?"

"The daughter of the woman he raped and murdered."

I looked at him, calculating how he'd known about the scandal. It was of course obvious when I thought about it, strange how these things flit through your mind, never settling properly.

"You think your wife killed your father?" I asked him.

"I think it's the most logical solution of all the facts."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Make sure the police don't find her, before I get chance to ask her myself."

* * *

**OK hope you liked it.**

**TBC**

**And we start again with Lucy POV part 2**

**Pls Review**

**Jas xx**


	6. Lucy's POV part 2

So now you know what is going on time for part 2.

**Places are real.**

**I own nothing! Except the bike!**

**Jas xx**

* * *

**Lucy's POV 2**

When I was seventeen I made the decision that would change my life, that would affect everything I do for the rest of my mortal days. I had been offered a place at the Royal Academy of Music; I was and am an accomplished pianist. At Cheltenham I was always top of every class, and with my pale skin and long thin fingers I was headed for a spectacular career. However challenge appeals to me, you only have to dare me and I will leap at the chance to prove you wrong. Jennifer Carmody challenged me, she was heading for Cambridge, and she was going to be Prime Minister. She told me that no matter how good my grades were, I'd never get in. She was wrong.

I should have studied Math's; I had an A at A-level and should have furthered my understanding. However my love of Mathematics came from my mother, she was brilliant, a woman without equal in her field. She had died a couple of years previously, and part of me hated the idea of trying to emulate her, she had worked for the government initially as a code breaker. Young and brilliant the security services had picked her up and her role became greater and greater, till eventually in terror and pain it killed her. While my classmates tried to decide which College or University was most likely to bag them a rich man, St Andrews mostly, I started studying the UCAS lists for a course that interested me. When I found History a lightbulb lit in my head, and from that moment on my fates were set.

Daddy offered me any number of cars, and vehicles for my new life in Cambridge. Offered me a Porsche if only I'd see sense and accept a place in a quiet shared house with some nice girls whose parents he knew. I however wanted a more normal anonymous experience for my undergraduate days. Without his knowledge and certainly without his blessing I had been taking motorcycle lessons, I passed my test before I passed my driving test. So while Daddy and I drove to Cambridge to install me in halls, Histon Road Motorcycles were delivering my new Yamaha SR125. I love my bike when Sherlock and I ran away, I paid Histon Road to keep it safe for me indefinitely. Every few months I go and visit it, ride it out into the fens, and have a day being a fool. The bike is underpowered and frighteningly rust prone, but for me it's always represented my freedom. When I started working for Mycroft on a regular basis, I had some work done to it. New wheels, new exhaust, new paint job and I 'sold' it to one of my aliases. Not completely foolproof but it would take some digging to trace that bike back to me. More importantly during my latest flight, it would be very difficult to trace me via my bike.

There isn't a lot about the art of disappearing the Holmes brothers don't teach you, however they themselves never give you details. I have watched them both change their look, their speech and even their height. For me this should be easier, a woman wearing a lot of makeup is easier than a man, dyeing my hair has never been a problem, and my accent well that is always up for grabs. So after Lestrade had left and I'd climbed out of the window, it was easy enough to walk to my office at UCL, change my appearance and get on a tube to Tottenham Hale, from there a train to Cambridge, and a bus to Histon Road. Once out on the Fens I was safe from whatever Lestrade wished to investigate, far away from my boys, and far enough away from my husband that I wouldn't be a distraction.

I had picked up a copy of the Cambridge Evening News at the station, but placed it in my rucksack for later perusal it wasn't until I'd sat in the bar of my chosen hotel, that I'd glanced at the headline. Safe in the cozy bar, my blood ran cold. I'd probably made a rather terrible mistake in coming into Cambridgeshire, I was signed in under a false name, my bike was registered in a false name, I was only carrying cash, and I looked nothing like Lucille Steadman. However the paper in front of me confirmed that if I wasn't already, I soon would be a very wanted woman.

**Woodland body named as missing civil servant.**

_**Hunt is on for victims missing son.**_

Ten years since that night, and the name of Sherlock's father still filled me with horror. His name invoked a revulsion in me normally kept for the most gruesome of sights. In that instance the smell of his cigarettes, his drunken breath, his sweaty meaty hands came back to me. The look of hate and the tremor of fear that had run through Sherlock when they met at the restaurant danced in front of my eyes. Worse his mocking voice ran through my head and my eyes prickled with hot tears. The woman behind who had been behind the bar had seen my moment of distress, and before I knew it she was hugging me in an over familiar way.

"Are you alright love?" she asked

" Yes, I just had a moment, sorry about that." I recovered quickly "Could I order food?"

She bustled away after that, and I was left at the table alone again. If Sherlock was missing as well, and the police were looking for him that suggested Mycroft knew his whereabouts and was happy to let the police look for him. That of course meant they wouldn't find him. I wondered if I wouldn't be better under Mycroft's protection myself. I hated Siger Holmes, but so did his sons, I wasn't sure how they wanted to proceed, but was fairly convinced they didn't want the scandal. Our return to England last time had resulted in nothing but some uncomfortable interviews about the disappearance this time it would be murder.

I went to Tesco's the next day and bought a pay as you go phone, registered it with my false name and waited for the phone call. I was convinced Sherlock would phone me at least to tell me how stupid I had just been. All day I waited considering phoning him myself, I rode out into the countryside, and when I passed a particularly nice looking church next to a country pub I stopped for lunch. I wasn't particularly hungry, but I sat in the back garden pushing a Ploughman's Lunch around with my fork, and checking my phone regularly. When I saw the waitress wandering towards me, I gave her a smile and made an effort to eat a couple of mouthfuls.

"Miss Dillon?" she asked me, I gave her a harsh look, I didn't think I'd given her my false name.

"Yes?" I answered, carefully.

"Your brother is waiting for you in the churchyard, he's apologizes for being late, and said you should join him when you've finished your lunch." She then walked off.

My heart raced, I assumed Mycroft would be waiting for me, I'm a brave person but I quail at the idea of walking voluntarily to my probable death. I left my table and shakingly walked towards the churchyard. For a few moments, I walked the path looking at the pretty little gravestones, wondering if I would get one or if like Siger I would get dumped in a shallow grave in a woodland. My heart hammering in my chest, I stood reading one particular stone, when a leather gloved hand closed over my mouth. This was it I thought, but instead of the knife I was slowly turned around to face my 'brother', the cold grey eyes, bore into me and the cupids bow lips suddenly curled into a smile.

"Sherlock!" I cried

"I think we need to talk, Lucy. Will you come with me?" he gestured to the cream Reliant Scimitar (Princess Anne has one) parked in front of the pub. I followed in silence wondering briefly how he'd got hold of such a car.

* * *

**The Scimitar (Princess Anne has one) belongs to my mate Ian, and as I was feeling a little bit girly towards the end of this chapter I thought I'd add it for good measure. If you are a Top Gear fan you'll understand the reference!**

**Anyway pls review.**

**TBC**

**Next chapt John POV 2.**

**Jas xx**


	7. John's POV part 2

**This chapter was really rather hard, so apologies!**

**Hope you enjoy.**

**I own nothing, my parents however are William and Sarah and own the house!**

**Jas xx**

* * *

**John's POV 2**

Junior was asleep cuddling his bear, Simon was reading an A-level biology textbook, and I had assumed that 'not' Anthea would have been playing with her blackberry. When I looked up to stare at her however, she was in fact studying me.

"Are you OK?" I asked her

"You haven't asked me where we are going?" she told me sadly.

"You never tell me" I reminded her "I didn't want to waste my breath!"

"Oh, you don't know then?" she asked

"No" I paused and rubbed my head, "Are you telling me you don't know either?" She nodded sadly and looked at the boys.

"I was told to stay with you and the boys, the driver knows where we are going, I did not need to."

This was a turn up for the books, Mycroft often kidnaps me and 'not' Anthea has always been my silent companion, something about the lost look she was giving me made me suddenly afraid for the four of us.

It was several hours later that we stopped, Simon was hungry, Junior was griping and 'not' Anthea looked exhausted. The door of the limo opened, and we all stared at out. A large friendly looking man was standing in the doorway; he had a large bushy beard and a pleasant smile. I was suddenly reminded of Hagrid from the Harry Potter books.

"Dr Watson?" he asked in a deep booming rustic voice. "Mr Holmes told us you'd be arriving, my wife has the house all snug for you." He gestured to a large country style cottage.

"Where exactly are we?" I asked climbing from the car, and helping 'not' Anthem out.

"Dartmoor, Widecombe in the Moor." The man answered, gesturing at the wide-open countryside. "Mr Holmes, explained you would be staying with us for a while. I'm William and my wife Sarah is in the house lighting the fires, if you want to come through."

The house is very well appointed, there are three large bedrooms, two upstairs and one downstairs. A large kitchen takes the centre of the house with a small dining room, long living room and wide conservatory running of it. The house is roughly in the shape of a pyramid with the small family bathroom perched on the very top, the ground floor and first floor also have smaller shower rooms and toilets. To one side of the house and attached to the kitchen by a long corridor containing a utility room and larder is the well-appointed garage, complete with a baby blue Skoda Fabia, for our use. William gave me the house keys, and instructed me on the electrics and oil fired Aga and central heating. He gave me an exclusive tour of the cellars, which contained very little, but the fuse box, and some packing crates. Then after his wife had fussed over the boys, and showed us where she had stowed our things, delivered earlier in the day apparently by delivery van, they pointed us to where their little farm was situated on the lane below the house, and left us alone.

That was how by three o'clock that afternoon I found myself as de facto head of our strange household, a woman whose name I didn't know, an eight year old boy genius, the toddler son of my lovers, and myself a bisexual Army doctor with PTSD. Anthea, we had decided to stick to that as her name for the boys sake and my sanity, was surprisingly domesticated. She decided the first thing the boys needed was some food, and having sent me to make sure they washed their hands, she heated some soup, and par baked rolls for a late lunch. I suggested that she took the upstairs double bedroom, and I would share the other upstairs twin with the boys. There was a large crib in that room that would be suitable for Junior and two single beds, one for me and one for Simon. Then as my charges, explored the large garden, which runs out towards the moor, I sat in the conservatory with Anthem and started questioning her.

"Do you have any idea what's going on yet?" I asked aware I was repeating myself.

"Not yet" she admitted "I wasn't surprised to see Mycroft had arranged clothes and things for us though, it's just I normally arrange all that for him. I hadn't a clue about any of this till I got into work this morning." She shrugged and sipped her tea

"Are you and Mycroft?" I asked

"Colleagues, very good friends?"

"Oh" I stuttered a little "It's just he's sent you away, with me and the boys. He must want to protect you, unless your lying to me, and you're the spy."

"I know you won't believe me John, but I'm in the dark as much as you. I'm very worried about Mycroft though, I care about him, I dread to think what's going on to make him send us all the way out here."

"Anthea, did Mycroft mention Lucy?"

"No" she gave me an odd look, "I assumed you knew where she was?"

"I wish I did."

Later that evening we had put the boys to bed together, they had questions about where Mummy and Daddy were. We couldn't really answer them, but they were comforted by both our presence. Anthea was better at the bedtime story than me, although she did question the content, so while she finished the chapter and tucked them in, I went to watch some crud TV. On a whim I switched to BBC teletext and searched the main headlines for a clue to my current situation. Scrolling down somewhere near the bottom, I saw the headline.

**Body found that of missing civil servant.**

Reading it half distracted by the gentle modulation from the voice upstairs; I probably didn't take half of the words sin. Then I caught the name of the victim, and everything suddenly fell into place.

_**Siger Holmes**_

"Anthea" I yelled, "You need to come down here NOW!"

* * *

**Pls Review**

**TBC**

**Next chpt Sherlock POV 2**

**I may have accidentally replaced Anthea with Anthem, please forgive me!**

**Jas xx**


	8. Sherlock's POV part 2

**This has gone a little epic, sorry!**

****

Jas xx

**Sherlock POV part 2**

I hated my father, he was a violent bully and he terrorized our family. When I left for University I made a decision never to return to the family home. My brother already had his own apartment in London, and my mother was more than a match for my father, so I felt we could all be finally free of him. The year before had been particularly bad. My father had already had a proven track record as a womanizer, when he was leant the services of a new assistant. She was a good 25 years younger than him, a code-breaker with a background in republican politics. I will admit I never met this lady, but I have seen pictures, and am intimately acquainted with her daughter. I can see what attracted my father to her; he became besotted, and tried everything to get this poor woman into his bed. It was all to no use, she was faithful to her husband, and my father became desperate. My knowledge of the incident comes from deductions after that. My father went away for two weeks, when he returned he was scratched and bruised and very irritable. He was also given a period of leave, which lasted over two months. Lucy's mother was returned home with a mysterious illness at the same time, she died within the same period. My father was clearly involved, and although the scandal died away, his name was always tarnished.

When I met Lucy I had very little idea that we had this connection. For me she was a useful ally and friend, and one of the few people who could stand to spend any time with me. During our final year she moved out of the halls she had lived in for the last two years, and had rented a small cottage instead. She had come to me for advice and together we had found a suitable house, cheap rent afforded by its location next to a funeral director, and a pleasant enough location. She had asked me to share it with her, but I had decided against this and to remain in the hustle and bustle of halls. Towards the end of our final year however I spent most nights at hers anyway. We didn't have a romantic attachment at that point, but I was taking a lot of cases and collecting a lot of data at that time, and her spare room was practical. Also she was excellent at cracking codes, and I always think better when I talk out loud. Mycroft and my father however seemed to have little idea about the nature of our relationship, and had repeatedly invited me to bring her to visit our home. When my father came to invite us out to dinner I wasn't surprised he had thought he'd found a weakness in my armour. He was very mistaken.

What happened after dinner was something that Lucy and I had never discussed, until I went to find her after my father's body was found. When Lucy registered the phone in the name of Sabrina Dillon, my brother was instantly informed. I asked him to allow me to go and see her, rather than sending some anonymous goon, and surprisingly he agreed. He borrowed a car for me from a high up member of the establishment, and I followed my wife out into the fens.

"Sherlock!" she cried, as she recognized me suddenly

"I think we need to talk, Lucy. Will you come with me?" I gestured to my borrowed cream car, and she followed me unquestioningly.

"Have you come to kill me husband?" she looked at me with a look I hadn't seen for years, fear and excitement all at once.

"No why?" I asked her

"I could give you away, if the police asked me about your father?" She shrugged and buckled her seatbelt full of anticipation. "So what do you want from me?"

"You wanted us to find you, you registered that phone. What do you want from us?"

"I was scared, I saw the paper they've found your father and they're looking for you. Last time we ran away, I didn't know what you wanted me to do. I'm out of my depth here, why did you come?"

"Because if I'm going to help you I need to know exactly what happened that night. I came to ask you the questions I didn't want to ask ten years ago, why did you kill him?"

"Me?" she looked at me suddenly eyes wide; "I didn't kill him! I thought you had."

I drove without any real direction for some miles, until she told me to stop. We were at Guys Head overlooking the River Nene, a place we had investigated a suspected suicide together during our undergraduate days. As I stopped the car she turned to me expectantly, she had questions, but knew me too well to ask. Instead she watched me as my mind replayed those last few university days. Sitting in the exam room during that last exam, convinced I'd feel the hand of a policeman on my shoulder at any minute. Turning up on her doorstep, asking her to come with me to South America, the look of relief on her face and her hurried agreement. I had always thought I'd been letting her escape justice, giving her an escape route from her crime, silently giving my support to the woman who'd murdered my father. Throughout the intervening years, every decision I'd made regarding her and my sons based on her murderous past, and a perceived moral corruption. I now realized she had been the one who made the sacrifices, running away with a man she had assumed was a murderer, marrying that man, trusting him again and again. Her occasional hesitance when I came to her, she had spent ten years thinking I was murderer escaping justice, and had never once done anything but support me.

"I know what he did to you, Lucy." I turned to her, and held her hand. Whatever she was expecting me to say it wasn't that.

"My m-m-mother?" she stammered.

"Yes, what he did to her, and to you. I know what happened that night, that's why I assumed you had killed him." She shook her head at me tears pricked behind her eyes, and I squeezed her hand. "You don't have to tell me, I have a fair idea I just need you to know, that I know."

"Does Mycroft know?" she asked me suddenly resting her head on my shoulder.

"I don't think so, I think it's just you and me. I think I do need to know what happened…afterwards, when he went, where he went. We gave each other false alibi's and I think we should generally stick to them, however if we didn't kill him, we need to find out who did."

I hadn't exactly known my father had attacked Lucy, in fact I wasn't even clear on my deductions. However those three days were etched on my mind in a way that no other crime has ever been. Drugs didn't erase it, poor living couldn't dull those memories, and worse than that my new found domestic 'bliss' had heightened my memories of my own father. I had left the restaurant after a vicious argument, my father had threatened me, had raised his hand to strike me, and sensing further danger in my continued presence I had left Lucy with him. I had walked back to my room in halls, got stupidly high and woken up the next day entangled with a second year called Damon, to the sound of my phone ringing somewhere in our jumble of clothes. When I had seen Mycroft's number I'd ignored it, and waited till the answer-phone message. I had dressed and left the night befores conquest in my bed, before I'd listened to the message, I was sitting on the bench outside the halls when Mycroft's voice informed me my father was missing. At first I didn't care, then I thought of my friend, and thought I'd better check on her. Despite her friendship with me Lucy was an innocent, she never had boyfriends or lovers, and I had a sudden moment of guilt leaving her with my father.

When I got to her white rendered cottage in Abbey Walk I knew I'd made a miscalculation the night before. Her keys were in the front door, and all the curtains were open. It was still early in the morning, and I could here the pall bearers in the building next door arranging the day's list. I let myself into the house, and shouted for Lucy. The living room was in disarray, and I could hear running water, when I went into the kitchen water was dripping from the ceiling, out of the single light fitting and puddling on the floor. I ran up the stairs, and to the small bathroom door, it was locked. Hearing the shower running hard into the bathtub, and smelling the damp of soaked carpets I shouldered it open. I saw my friend sitting hunched in the bathtub, her normal pale skin was red and wrinkled with the action of hot water on her skin. She was still wearing the silk kimono style dress she had worn to dinner, her blonde hair however was loose and soaked, and her makeup was wrecked by the action of the shower, and by the tears attested to by her red rimmed eyes. I turned off the shower, and she barely reacted as I pulled her up and lifted her from the shower. I carried her to her still made bed and lying her down, attempted to undress her, as she shivered under me. I discovered her dress was ripped and torn in places, and her white silk underwear was torn and bloody. I removed the rest of her clothes, and checked that her most obvious scratches and bruises were her only physical injuries, I dried and dressed her in warm clean pyjamas, without her seemingly noticing. I stayed until in her exhaustion she dropped into a fitful sleep, then destroying her clothes and cleaning the mess as best I could. Sat downstairs and awaited the police I expected to come.

She awoke about seven in the evening, and I hadn't moved from the sofa. We both had final exams the next day, and although neither of us ever crammed, I worried about her state of mind for the exam. However she sat beside me on her sofa, and for the first time in our life cuddled into me. We watched some crud on TV, with the lights off and never mentioned that night again. When I awoke the next morning, still on the sofa with my arms around her I had to drag her to the exam halls. Whatever was going to happen, it wouldn't help us to miss our exams. Her final however was shorter than mine was, and after it had finished she had disappeared back to her cottage. I'd been asked to investigate a case in South America, and Lucy had tried to talk me out of it. She didn't trust the man who'd come to see us a few weeks previously, but as I walked out of the exam and through the streets towards Abbey Walk I phoned my contact and agreed to take the case. He agreed to have tickets waiting for us at Heathrow the next day, and someone to collect us at the other end. Lucy agreed to come with me, and within a few hours we had left Cambridge. I went home briefly, but Lucy refused to come into the house. I collected some money and two mahogany boxes and left without saying a word to anyone.

We never spoke about the reasons for our flight, to each other or anyone else. When we returned we agreed to make statements to the police and gave each other alibi's. Saying that my father had walked us back to Lucy's house and we'd spent the night together. Each one of us believing the other to be a murderer. If I could get Lucy to remember her darkest most buried memory, we could finally put the ghost of that night to rest. We needed to return to the scene of the crime, and I needed to know what happened, to investigate properly.

As Lucy's face fell, and she started to tell me all she remembered, I texted Mycroft.

**It wasn't Lucy; I need your help- SH.**

**

* * *

**

**Hope you liked that!**

**You'll need a cup of tea and a sit down after that!**

**TBC**

**Next Lestrade POV part 2**

**Pls Review**

**Jas xx**


	9. Lestrade's POV part 2

**Lestrade POV 2**

When I met Sherlock Holmes, I knew he was capable of being a dangerous man. He was a drug addict, skeletally thin, and covered in bruises. He hung around crime scenes for fun, and as far as I have ever worked out, spent his time with the most disturbing criminal elements. Donovan always told me he was capable of murder, he told me himself he was a Sociopath but somehow I never believed he was capable of murder. However I saw those reports, and I thought about how he'd disappeared again, walked out and I had a horrible feeling I was about to be proved wrong.

When I met Sherlock Holmes it was in a crack den in Bermondsey, he had been sitting in the dark, calm as you like, doped to the eyeballs. He'd been polite and courteous and followed all the instructions I had given him to the letter. However he was barely dressed, and it was obvious he hadn't been alone, I know now that the person who had fled and left him there was Lucille. He carefully gave her time to run, and accepted his arrest with good humour and aplomb. While he was sat in the cells, he solved three murders for me. I've worked with him ever since, and only ever had the briefest cause to doubt him.

When I first met Lucille at the murder scene in her Kensington House, I thought posh spoiled aloof. When I interviewed her I had to ask who Simon's father was, and I had a moment of disbelief when I found out. Sherlock, my Sherlock with a child, I had assumed they had an affair and Simon was the result of that. I'd known Sherlock for 5 years, and he had never mentioned a child. She had asked me not to contact him, and I was happy to let her inform him. Then John told me they were actually married, and I was given another glimpse into the strange dark world of Sherlock Holmes. A man so socially inept that his colleagues, friend and flatmate didn't know he was married.

I was thinking about all this as I sat in front of the file attempting to find any clues to where Sherlock may be. I went back to Baker Street and discovered it empty. A call from Sherlock's alarming brother Mycroft revealed he had sent John and the boys away while the investigation was ongoing. This was somewhat of a relief as it happened, the ongoing man hunt for a couple both in their 30's was easier than searching for a family with two young boys. I assumed any details would be smoothed out by the elder Holmes, and just asked him to pass on my best to the Doctor. On the question of his brother Mycroft was less forthcoming, no he didn't know where he was, no he wasn't traceable, no there was no surveillance. Although when I mentioned Lucille I got a very different answer, Mycroft assured me the last surveillance footage he'd had of Lucille was at Baker Street moments after I'd left the flat. She had left no note, no clue of where she was going, Mycroft assumed she had gone to find Sherlock, but didn't seem sure. If anything he seemed more concerned by a missing Sister-in-law, than a missing brother did. When I asked him whether he thought something might have happened to her, whether Sherlock might be responsible for her disappearance he went quiet for a moment and told me.

"God I hope not."

I arranged a search of Baker Street; Lucille's Kensington House, her Gower Street flat, and her UCL office. These properties with the exception of Baker Street were neat and tidy and quickly searched and removed from our enquiry's. I felt it was almost like we'd been expected, and they had been tidied accordingly. I knew these people, I had worked with these people, I felt if I wasn't going to find them, I could at least find out what was going on. Mycroft was willing to file missing person reports for both Sherlock and Lucille. This had the benefit of giving me more than a foothold in the investigation, and whether this was Mycroft's plan or not I do not know. Lucille was now a suspect in the murder of Siger Holmes, attested to by themselves, and a number of witnesses she and her husband were the last people to were known to have seen him alive. Their story was simple but somehow considering the background and their flight slightly unbelievable. Everytime I'd read the original statement I kept thinking what had I missed.

Lucille and Sherlock were University lovers, they worked together and for all intense and purposes lived together. Sherlock's father and Lucille's mother worked together, and he was responsible for her rape and ultimately her death. Sherlock's father was abusive and violent and he and his son quarreled regularly, in an attempt to stave off further arguments the senior Holmes had gone to visit his son at University, and had taken Lucille and Sherlock to dinner. There had been some quarrel over dinner, and Sherlock had left to go home. Lucille and Siger Holmes had followed, and after some further argument Siger had stalked off across the park never to be seen again. Holmes and Lucille had gone to bed, and been woken in the late morning by Mycroft searching for his father. They attended their final exams, and were offered a case in Buenos Aires, which they took up, leaving the country the next day. Their statements were arrogant and self-centered, but nothing I hadn't read before, nothing I hadn't read from Sherlock Holmes. They had informed their families by letter and postcard of their whereabouts, and had assumed that would be enough information. They hadn't felt the need to inform them of their marriage, as neither believed it important, nor of Lucille's pregnancy until the 8th month when they needed help getting home.

This had been enough for the original investigating team, however in light of their most recent flight investigations had focused on the original statements being false. The current theoretical timeline assumed Siger Holmes had quarreled with his son in the restaurant, after Lucille had returned home they had fought again, Sherlock had killed his father, then borrowed some vehicle to transport the body to Hertfordshire. Returning to Lucille and getting her to provide an alibi, he arranged to flee the country before the police interviewed the pair. This seemed too simplistic to me; maybe I'd spent to long working with Sherlock. I wanted to know about the vehicle Sherlock had used the weapon and the location of the murder. It became obvious that I'd have to get hold of the forensic reports, and visit my Cambridgeshire colleagues.

**TBC**

**Mycroft 2 nxt**

**Jas xx**


	10. Mycroft's POV part 2

**PC totally Pete Tong**

**Pls Forgive!**

**Mycroft POV 2**

My brother always worries me, I worry about him constantly, however since he and Dr Watson became involved my worries have usually been shallow or short-lived. My current worries are deep and long-lasting, my energies are mostly pooled towards his most pressing problem, and my best resources are distracted in this endeavour. I unlike the police doubt very much that my brother killed our father, Sherlock may be many things, but I doubt he would do anything so Oedipal. I have my suspicions however about the charming Ms Steadman. All the time I have known her, and the years they were missing, I have found her a particularly disturbing person. A penchant for violence and torture, added to a rather tiny sense of self-preservation made her a rather good addition to my staff, but I will happily admit not the greatest Sister-in-law. When my father first went missing, followed shortly by Sherlock and Lucille, I had assumed my brother had commited some rash deed and an infatuated Ms Steadman had followed him. However when I got to know the couple after there return I was able to make similar judgements to my brother and realised who the most likely murderer of the pair was.

I knew my father, I had lived with him for nearly 30 years, and worked with him for many years. He wasn't a pleasant man, and I could well believe he had pushed the young couple to breaking point. Either by physical abuse or by exhaulting his part in Lady Eirawin Steadman's death. When Sherlock confided in me his belief in his wife's guilt I assumed the latter, however I rarely make judgements without facts, and was willing to help my brother find anyway out of this situation. Sherlock for some reason was unwilling to sacrifice his wife's freedom, and I felt duty bound to help him find an alternative. I had added to Lucille's natural talents by sending her to various training courses, when first I realised her possible use. I know therefore that she could easily survive on her own wits without needing to revert to her real identity indefinately. It is a skill I rely on in all my agents, and so I was mildly surprised when I found she had registered a pay as you go phone. Sherlock had leapt on this information as a sign that she needed him, and had begged me to allow him to find her out.

Personally I wondered if more than being a cry for help it had been an admission of guilt. Standard procedure for this type of break in cover would be elimination. Lucille knows this and I had a curious feeling that she was hoping I would send someone to eliminate her. So I agreed to send Sherlock to her, but I armed him, gave him a car and warned him.

"This isn't another anonymous killer Sherlock, some unfortunate whose crimes can be solved then filed away this is your wife, your lover, your friend and the mother of your children. Whatever happens in the next few days your going to have to live with for the rest of your life. Do you think you can do that?"

I received a look for my pains, a Sherlock look, that look that says 'I know better than you'. Then a scoff and he was off, loping down the corridor like an Afghan hound. I worry about my brother constantly and watching him rush off like that, I really thought he was going to get his heart broken.

Two days later I had spoken to Lestrade and put him off both Lucille and Sherlock's scent, and assured him of Doctor Watson's safety. I was just searching through the files, thinking over my best course of action to avoid scandal, heartbreak and my brother doing something rash. When I received his message informing me of Ms Steadman's innocence. My brother can be niaeve, and he can be bested, however he wouldn't let me know so vehmently her innocence if he didn't have some proof. I would have phoned him to ask for clarification, but I did not know his situation. I entertained myself with the crime scene photo's thinking that while my brother and sister-in-law probably had a wealth of other things to discuss, I should make an effort to solve our fathers murder.

I have a temporary assistant, who doesn't appreciate Anthea's game of changing her name daily to suit her whims. I called her and asked for the original investigation notes, and for the first time spotted a series of crime scene photos of the Abbey Walk cottage. The original investigators had written careful notes to go with each picture, one picture showed the inside of the lounge wood burning stove. The remains of clothing had been found, however no genetic or forensic material had been found in the ash and the team had disregarded it. I filed that information to one side, I would need to question them about it. The next photo I had found was the back garden, Lucille had apparently fled while leaving her bedding on the clothes line to dry. Then I looked at the pictures of the lounge again it was a tip, books had been ripped off shelves, picture frames were twisted and hanging oddly, as a stared at this group of pictures other things pricked my interest. There was a stain on the cream carpet that had recently been cleaned, the sofa had moved a good foot from it's usual position, and interestingly now I stared the coffee table was slanted and clearly broken. I knew Lucille well enough to know she wouldn't leave her home like this.

Something had happened in that house, and someone had attempted to cover it up. I suddenly wondered if I was looking at my fathers murder scene, Whatever had happened in that room had caused my brothers flight, and I didn't need our famous Holmesian deductions to realise I was looking at the reason for my fathers death. I needed to know what had happened, and for that I needed to speak to both of them. Packing these photos into a folder I decided my next move would be unusually proactive for me, I was going to go to Cambridge.

**TBC**

**Lucy prt 3 next**

**Jas xx**


	11. Lucy's POV part 3

**OK fair warning there is some discussion of sexual abuse, nothing graphic but you have been warned.**

I have tried to handle it simpathetically, I apologise if I've screwed it up, I ot my wife to help me.

Jasxx

* * *

**Lucy POV 3**

I had never told anyone about that night, not one person knew the details of what happened to me. I felt I had to tell Sherlock, he was facing possible criminal charges based on a crime he didn't commit, and he never worked well unless he was given all the facts. I hadn't failed to tell him because I didn't want him to know, but at first I was too traumatized and later it just didn't seem important. I had always assumed Sherlock had deduced what had happened and killed his father in revenge. If Sherlock and I had lived in Roman times Sherlock would be facing being tied in a sack with an angry dog and a lobster and being thrown into the river for the crime of killing his father. As it was he could receive as little as 5 years in prison for justifiable homicide. However I think we would both avoid anything so pedestrian.

Sherlock Holmes has always been my best friend, the knowledge that his father murdered my mother and attacked me has had very little effect on our relationship. So when I sat in his borrowed car going over the horrific details of my rape, I was able to describe it in the third party. I couldn't remember Siger Holmes leaving my home though, Sherlock supposed that I had probably passed out in fear and pain. He was able to come up with a timeline however, and as I sat silently fighting back tears. He looked over his notes again, and then suddenly looked at me, we need to go back to Abbey Walk.

When we returned to Cambridge I insisted we stopped in Victoria Road. The two-twenty-two is a halfway house, and home to the only man I've ever trusted to do my make up. Not exactly a criminal mastermind my dear friend Shaun is a genius when he comes to hiding a persons identity. I insisted we spend a couple of hours in Shaun's tiny room, having our normal looks completely covered with subtle make-up, hair dye and a complete change of clothes. When we returned to Abbey Walk, walking up to the door where our adventure had begun all those years ago we were now in the full Goth outfit. Complete in Sherlock's case with a lip ring, and artificially straightened and black dyed hair.

I showed Sherlock the path I'd taken with his father, from New Street, and through the park towards the house. I told Sherlock how his father had dragged me through the park towards my door, and we followed that route. Towards my old home, Strawberry Cottage. Weyman's the funeral Directors was closed, the lights were off and only the flat above seemed to have any life. My breath caught as I walked towards the white walls, and red front door of the cottage. The memories flooded back, and I had to catch my husband's arm to stop myself crying out. Sherlock asked me questions about cars I had seen, people who may have walked by, anything that might help his deductions. We stood by the green painted railings looking towards the house in the gathering gloom. Suddenly my husband stretched up and strolled towards the house, forcing me to follow in his wake. He rapped on the door, and strangled a cry when Mycroft opened the door.

I was more disturbed when out of the kitchen came a smiling DI Lestrade. My brother-in-law took my hand and led me to the sofa, while Lestrade walked towards Sherlock, and ran a finger over his pierced lip.

"You can relax" Mycroft drawled calmly and sat on the flowery armchair "DI Lestrade is here to help clear your names, as much as I am."

"What do you propose?" Sherlock asked slumping on the sofa next to me.

Mycroft tossed us the crime scene photos of this living room, a few days after we'd left for Argentina. Very little had changed other than the pictures, and sofa, even the carpet was the same, I could still see the stain of my blood lightly on the floor. I stared at it, as the men poured over the pictorial evidence of my shame. Sherlock clearly noticed my distress and gentle squeezed my hand, bringing the rest of the room back into sharp focus. Lestrade using a voice several octaves lower than his usual one, to ask me gently what the photos showed. I gathered Mycroft had probably explained what it looked like to him, and now the Scotland Yard detective was asking me to confirm it.

"It's what it looks like" I confirmed, staring into the detectives eyes, "Sherlock's father attacked me, I don't remember a lot about it."

"I found her a few hours later in a state of distress, I burnt her clothes and put her to bed" Sherlock explained, "then I stayed until my final exam two days later. Lucy was in no condition to kill my father, and I didn't have time. I think someone watched my father leave Lucy here, and then murdered him." He gave Mycroft a nasty look, and Lestrade followed his gaze.

"Oh, I should mention" Mycroft snarled sardonically "I didn't kill him."

I was forced to go through my ordeal once again, and this time to make it worse it was in front of 3 men not just my one friend. Sherlock interestingly added a detail I had never heard before, his rendezvous with Darren. It made me laugh; Darren was madly in love with Sherlock, an odd creature who had hung around Sherlock's room waiting for an invitation. I wasn't jealous, Sherlock had many male lovers, and to my knowledge only 2 female, one being me. I just thought how foolish he had been shagging the boy days before he intended to leave England.

After some time and Mycroft and Sherlock prowling around the house like panthers, Lestrade explained the current residence had been asked to leave by the current investigating team, and were staying with friends. I relaxed somewhat when I heard that, being found dressed in full Goth regalia, sat in a lounge I had know place to be with a wanted criminal, a Met Police DI and the British Government may have been too much for my battered nerves.

"Detective, shouldn't you offer me a female officer to talk to regarding my attack?" I asked after a while.

"Do you need one?" he asked concerned

"Don't tell my husband, but when this is over, could you arrange one?" I felt stupid but I had never told anyone about the attack, and within 24 hours I had been through the event more times that ever in my life. I wanted to speak to someone gentle and non-judgmental, and for the first time I actually wanted to report it.

"Of course" he looked at me again, assessing me "Would you, I mean do you…. Do you want to speak to John?"

I was about to reply when Sherlock and Mycroft walked back into the Lounge.

"We think we might know what happened" Mycroft explained.

"We will need to see where they found the body, then we will need to see the body." Sherlock announced

I stood expecting to be steered out by the Brother's Holmes, but they stalked out without a backward glance, leaving me with Lestrade. He escorted me to his plain police car; both of us wondering what to do next when Lestrade's phone suddenly bleeped.

Send Ms Steadman to John and Anthea- MH.

I had apparently reached the end of my usefulness and was being sent away with the rest of the Holmes family. So typical and cold I thought happily that at least I would get to see my babies, and talk to the one person I probably needed too. Dr John Watson.

* * *

**TBC**

**Johns POV 3 next**

**Jas xx**


	12. John's POV part 3

**John's POV 3**

I woke up with a start about 3am, for a moment I assumed Sherlock had woken me with one of his experiments, or an impromptu violin concerto. When I opened my eyes, I realized I wasn't lying in our usual massive bed designed for three, I was in a small single in a room that wasn't mine. The soft snuffling from the cot at the foot of my bed reminded me suddenly of my whereabouts, and the surrogate father in me remembered my duty. Climbing from the bed, I first checked on my tiny namesake, wrapped in his light purple blankets, his fingers in his mouth he was sleeping peacefully. I turned to check on his older brother, finding the child half hanging out of his bed I gently tucked him back in, and looked around the room for the source of my disturbance.

A few moments later I heard the noise that had evidently woke me, it was a phone on silent vibrating. My own phone was still in Baker Street, and Anthea had told me she hadn't been allowed to keep her blackberry. Nevertheless I crept out into the hallway, and knocked on her bedroom door. She opened it after a minute or so, looking sleepy and flushed dressed in comfy looking pink pyjamas.

"Is everything OK?" I asked her quietly, "I just heard a mobile?"

"I don't have a mobile John? Are you sure you didn't imagine it?" She was genuine, no one is that good an actor at 3am, and I know this by now. I assured her it was probably my imagination but went downstairs anyway. We had spent the evening playing Disney Trivial Pursuits, and the board and cheeses were still littering the living room floor. I didn't bother turning the lights on but instead walked through the quiet house looking for what had disturbed me. When I entered the kitchen, I spent a moment leaning against the warm Aga, it was pleasant and when this is all over the only thing I will genuinely miss about this house is that Aga. I was considering making a cup of tea, when my eye caught something on the small kitchen table, when I went and picked it up it was an old Nokia mobile phone.

The phone was 5 or 6 years old; I'd had one like it before I'd left for Afghanistan. I swept the room for some sign of a break in. I saw nothing unusual except the phone, which I started to study. This was the source of the noise, 2 unread messages.

The first read:

9.48 Newton Abbot Station- MH

The second read:

Go Alone- SH.

I pocketed the phone, the men who had as far as I knew murdered their father, and was busy covering the evidence wanted me to meet a train. I had a moment of doubt when I wondered whether I should phone the police. Then I remembered Sherlock, his smile, his eyes and realized I couldn't even if I wanted too. I made myself a cup of tea, and sat watching naff TV till the boys woke at 6.

I told Anthea quietly about my odd message, and she just nodded and agreed to look after the boys. I had promised them they we could go walking on Hound Tor, so they were a little put out, that not only did I have to go out, but also I had no idea when I'd be back. Anthea had bought some strong white bread flour, and live yeast the day before in Bovey Tracey and told the boys that they could help her bake some bread, and then they'd play in the garden till I got back. I thanked her for her understanding, I felt we would never be the closest of friends, but she was very good to the boys, and me and I could understand how Mycroft found her indispensable.

It took me half an hour on unfamiliar roads to drive to the station. The train had obviously just arrived, as people were being disgorged out into the carpark. I didn't know why I was there, and secretly hoping to see Sherlock, so I searched the faces of the strangers as they walked passed the car. I drove up to the security barrier, and stepped out of the car, still searching the faces of those around me. I looked towards the now empty concourse, and a figure all in black started to walk towards me. Tall and dark I couldn't make out the person but my heart skipped a beat, Sherlock, it had to be my Sherlock. The figure raised a hand, and hurried towards me. As they got closer however I realized I didn't recognise them at all, in fact it wasn't until the impossibly tall and thin Goth girl had thrown herself into my arms did I realize.

"Lucy?"

She was shivering and crying and in a complete state. I tried to pull her away to calm her down but she clung to me strongly. We were starting to get funny looks, and so I steered her into the passenger seat of the car, and got in the driver's seat.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?" I asked angry and bemused. This brought forward another wave of crying, and I fished the phone back out of my pocket.

What the hell have you done to her? - JW

Nothing- SH

Don't give me that she's in hysterics- JW

Still? - SH

Get Mycroft to phone me- JW

We sat there for a couple of minutes, with Lucy weeping and me drumming my fingers on the steering wheel. The odd person now came and looked at us, but otherwise we sat waiting for the phone. It rang, and the soft careful drawl of the elder Holmes filled my ear.

"John, you wanted to speak to me, it will have to be quick, I'm on rather a tight schedule."

"What have you and your mad brother done to Lucy? She's sitting next to me looking like a cross between Kelly Osbourne and Amy Winehouse, crying her eyes out, and refusing to talk to me."

"Professor Steadman was accused of murder, and in the course of the investigation some disturbing details have come out, she's been crying ever since."

"Why have you sent her to me?"

"DI Lestrade seemed to think it was a good idea, now if you'll excuse me I have to clear my brother of the crime."

He hung up, but in the course of a very short conversation I had gained more information than I had in a week. I looked at Lucy, and took her hand.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" I asked, she nodded slowly giving me the most puppyish look he'd ever seen. "Anthea, the boys and I are staying in a cottage 10 miles away do you to go there to talk, or somewhere else?" She looked at me, and started to sob again.

"I want to see my boys."

I drove her back in silence, she was able to tidy herself up a bit, and as we drove up to the cottage, she was fidgeting with hair. She dived out of the car, as I stopped to open the garage, and ran through the front door, shouting for her sons. When I had parked, and came in she was crying again, her arms wrapped around both her sons, black stained tears hitting the kitchen tiles. I looked at Anthea and she at me, neither of us knowing quite what to do. I took Anthea into the conservatory and caught her up with the new information. She was disappointed with the lack of progress, and idea of when we could return home, she also offered to talk to Lucy for me. I refused and after she had calmed down, and Anthea offered to take the boys down to the village for a bit, I led her through to the conservatory, sitting her down I took her hands and asked her to explain what was wrong.

When Lucy finished her story, my fists were clenched and my knuckles were white. She was sobbing again, but now she was cuddled in my arms. I moved my things into the downstairs bedroom, along with Lucy's few belongings and promised her I'd stay with her until this mess was sorted out. When Sherlock was back with us, we would have a serious discussion about our future but for now, she was my responsibility, and my first job is to get her to stop crying. Then we'd move on to the murder investigation.

* * *

**TBC**

**Sherlock's POV 3 next**

**The cottage to Newton Abbot station is 9.9miles, and takes 25mins.**

**Jas xx**


	13. Sherlock's POV part 3

**I have severe writers block! So this and the next chapter are short and we will attempt to finish the story.**

I am not a patient man, and when a problem is posed to me, and my brain is working I do not take interruptions well. Lestrade's sniffer dinosaur can attest to that, and with slightly more regret, now so can my wife. We've always had what could be described as a difficult marital relationship, however I have never sent her away from a case before. Somehow watching Lestrade steer my sobbing wife to a police car, offering to accompany her as far as Paddington and put her on a train to John sent an unnatural chill through me. Mycroft immediately told me it was guilt, and that's why I hit him.

When we arrived at the site where the body was found, I already knew who would make a convenient and willing scapegoat for this crime. If I could work out how to direct the investigation in that direction, I could go back to Baker Street, and back to John. I have always thought myself an uncaring person, incapable of love, a higher functioning sociopath. My treatment of my wife and sons has been my secret private personal proof of this. However now I have John. I love John, I need to be back with John, and I will do anything for that.

Mycroft has better deductive reasoning than I do; I would never admit that to him, obviously. I would also never tell the Scotland Yard bluffers that, or my clients, the only person I have ever acknowledged this simple fact to, is my John. He of course worked out my simple plan, long before I had concluded it as my course. As I stood looking at the whole some person had dug for my father, my brother slipped what I needed into my hand. Kneeling down and brushing the soft ground with my hand, I placed my evidence carefully on the edge of the pit.

I called the constable over, and asked for an evidence bag, my acting skills coming to the front, as I scoffed and cajoled the efficiency of the SOCO team. Taking the small implanted 'smoking gun' in my tweezers, I placed it in the evidence bag, and presented it fait compli to the IO at the scene. I turned my heal, shouting over my shoulder that they need new staff, got back in Mycroft's car and we drove off.

It was less than 12 hours later that my evidence, a bobby pin with a hair attached, had been sent for DNA testing. As I knew it would, the hair was traced and it's owner tract down to HMWP Styal. It took another 24 hours and some mild cajoling to extract a full and perfectly logical confession.

There was never a trial, there never would be the lady in question was taken by a aneurysm late one night whilst sleeping in her cell. My wife mourned briefly the demise of her former nurse and the double murderer, Nelly. John, Lucy my sons and myself were able to resume our life back at Baker Street. All was well.

**Thank you for reading!**

**Nelly is from story 1 of this canon!**


	14. Mycroft's POV part 3

**Last chapter!**

**This has been really tricky!**

**Hope you enjoy**

My brother is an idiot; my brother is a self centered, shallow self-diagnosed sociopath. I have seen him throw away the greatest chances any young man has ever been given, again and again. He's thrown wealth, fame and power back in the face of those who've offered them. However even with all my surveillance and 30 years of experience what I saw when my brother was reunited with his family made me doubt all my previous data.

Despite Sherlock's vocal disagreement I accompanied him to Widecombe to collect his family, a car was arranged to take him and collect John, Lucy and the boys. I had arranged for Anthea to be collected and them to have some time at the cottage as a family. However Sherlock had wanted to return to Baker Street as soon as possible, and in the end I had agreed that 2 cars could be sent, one for myself and Anthea and one for the family. Sherlock didn't need to know that Anthea and I would stay on at the cottage for a few days instead.

When we pulled onto the country road from Bovey to Widecombe, Sherlock started shifting uneasily in his seat, rearranging his unkempt curls to make him look disheveled, and pulling and his collar and cuffs. For a moment I felt I was channeling Mummy, and slapped his hand, but I realized this had no affect, he was oblivious of me, he was worried about seeing John. It was a lovely sunny day and as we pulled up the lane towards the cottage I could hear my nephews screaming and laughing in the garden at the back of the house. Sherlock was out of the car and through the garden gate before I was properly out of the car. I came around the garden path a few moments later, and the scene was beautiful.

A football net lay at one end of the garden with my darling Anthea standing in front of it, a look of concentration on her face, as John weaved the ball towards her, Simon was attempting to tackle him, while Junior an Lucy cheered. Sherlock had stopped, just watching the scene; the look that passed is face was rapt and delightful. John had escaped from Simon's tackle lined up the shot, and despite a rather energetic leap from Anthea, scored cleanly. As he turned in victory his eyes caught Sherlock's, and mid cheer the garden suddenly went deathly quiet.

Sherlock cocked his head, and then the two men rushed together and their lips met. After what seemed like an hour, they broke apart. I was embracing my Anthea, I wouldn't normally have done anything so intimate in anything but the strictest of privacy, but the family in front of me were too caught up to tell, and Mummy knows anyway. Sherlock looked away from nuzzling John, and I watched as his eyes searched out Lucy, she was sitting on the grass with the boys watching as her husband French kissed another man. He reached his hand to her and she cocked her head, the same look I've seen Sherlock give on numerous occasions. She walked towards the two men slowly and I watched as she wondered where she fitted in their lives.

John suddenly reached out and pulled Lucy between him and Sherlock. I was fascinated as he nuzzled her neck, and wrapped his arms around her and Sherlock. Their tiny frames making it possible for John to bear hug both, Sherlock kissed her, and they stood cuddling for a few moments until Junior and Simon, left out of the family hug came and embraced their fathers legs. Like a prodigal cub, my brother was reintroduced to his pack. I had spent a lot of time, working out how best to split this family up, avoiding scandal, avoiding rumor. Standing in that sun lit garden embracing my lover I realized I was wrong.

Everything Sherlock and Lucy had done in the last few days had been to protect this family group. I decided there and then I would do whatever I could to make this little family safe and normal. It wasn't the physical affection that changed my mind, or the happy chattering between the 5 as they got in the car as they drove away. It was the genuine smile I saw on my brother face, as he waved at me and got into his car.

**Well that was a little mammoth!**

**Hope you like it!**

**Love to all**

**Jas xx**


End file.
